


Not Very Pretty (But We Sure Know How To Run Things)

by unsit_on_hat



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Colonialism, Depression, F/F, Fugitives, M/M, Mental Illness, On the Run, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Sburb, Rating May Change, Revolution AU, Slow Burn, bc apparently I can't do anything else, boys with swords, not a whole lot of angst, occupied earth au, quite a bit of drama though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-11 11:33:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11147550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsit_on_hat/pseuds/unsit_on_hat
Summary: On an Earth that has been occupied by troll invaders for centuries, Rose has just uncovered the code to a game that could free her and her friends from the tyranny of the batterwitch forever.Also Dave gets a new roommate.





	1. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so this is an au that's been rolling around my head ever since the beginning of Act 6. A lot of the motivation behind this fic was to explore relationships and dynamics that I personally thought had potential, but weren't really given much (or any) focus in canon. There are two storylines going on here, a Rose-centric one and a Dave-centric one. I am expecting that I will be alternating between them by chapter. It's more worldbuilding than I typically do, but I can't say I didn't have fun with it.

Kanaya knew very little about Earth, and what she did know came from less than reputable sources (i.e. Alternian propaganda and Karkat's rants over trollian about the stupidity of human friendliness and movie titles). Of course, she probably ought to have studied up on it a bit further before stowing away on a cargo ship to the planet.

Except, it wasn't as though the actions she'd taken that night were especially thought out. There was only the murder of her lusus, and then everything else was a blur.

They landed on ground that was too flat, beneath a blue sky and endless horizon. She expected the crew members to wait until nightfall to begin unloading the deck. That was her first mistake.

She knew she had a narrow window of time to escape the cargo hold before the shadows would stretch and the moonlight would wake the crewmen. First, she tidied up after herself. Over the perigrees-long trip, she had pulled together a pile of sorts, of army uniforms. It was cozy enough, though nothing compared to her recuperacoon, back home.

 _Home_ , she let herself become melancholic for a moment. Kanaya missed it, despite herself. She missed her gardens and her workshop, the red sand and her bright sails of fabric in the wind. But mostly, she missed the sun.

If she was being completely honest with herself, she knew her eagerness to abscond from the ship was less to do with nervousness than her excitement at basking in this new star's rays. She supposed it was her excitement that made her careless, that made her miss the sound of voices and slamming doors. This was only a short pitstop, after all, and she wanted, no, _needed_ , to make the most of it.

Her plan was to meet with Vriska a few miles out from here, where the blueblood had a ship prepared, its destination the next system over, on the nearest habitable planet the empire had yet to lay their claws on. Kanaya had hassled the other troll endlessly to make sure it was optimal for her purposes.

One does not get a second chance when it comes to hatching a mothergrub.

If Vriska were not her friend, she wouldn't trust her if her life depended on it. Initially, Vriska had been stationed here as a wunderkind commander, ridiculously high-ranked for her age, renowned for her strategic mind and ruthless heart. However, she soon became bored and tired of following the strict rules that came with her position and turned renegade, a spy for both the rebels (of whom few would admit the existence) and the loyalists, selling weapons and secrets to both sides. She was much happier and far more suited to that kind of thing, anyway.

Soon, she was swimming in enough dough that when Kanaya, in straits desperate enough to request assistance of her ex-moirail, reached out, it was as though she had asked only to borrow a cup of flour instead of an actual _spaceship_.

She’d nearly made it out of her current ship when she rounded a corner and literally ran into a member of the crew. Kanaya held her breath as she waited for the troll's damning words.

"Oof, watch it pal." Okay, well that was anticlimactic.

Finally, he came to his senses and raised his eyebrows at her. “Who are you anyway? I’ve never seen you around here before.” He frowned. “You a stowaway?”

“Um. No?” Kanaya was never very good at lying. Before the other troll could respond, she bolted for the door, but she was suddenly blocked by a large olive blood with a standard-issue trident and a shark-like grin. Kanaya got the sense this one liked their job a bit _too_ much. However, they weren’t prepared for the chainsaw she would summon or the unnerving focus of her eyes. If she squinted, they could be undead…

What ensued was quite gory, though Kanaya made sure not to kill or seriously maim anyone. She had hoped to make this trip without so much mess, but oh well. At least there were a minimal amount of guards (after all, it was only a cargo ship), and once the other crewmen saw what she did to those, they didn’t bother with her. If she paused for a bit of a snack afterwards, who could blame her? There was only so long a girl could dine on squeakbeast blood without getting a craving for something more, well, _refined_. Now, she thought as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, time to get down to business. She exited the capsule.

Kanaya walked out into the sun, her blood-pusher bursting at the warmth… to find herself surrounded once again.

 

When Meenah had been assigned to intercepting and looting the small cargo ship, she’d been less than excited. Aranea, however, wouldn’t budge, citing the mess the fuchsia-blood had made the last time she’d been involved in a major resistance operation.  “It’s not _my_ fault that doofish left that priceless, one of a kind circlet just filleting around,” Meenah had argued. “I couldn’t pass up that kinda opperchtunaty!”

Aranea was anything but sympathetic. “If we’re ever going to be taken seriously as a movement, we need to do things the _right_ way. Which means no petty theft.”

“Isn’t my current fishion to steal shit?” she’d asked, cheeks turning purple with anger.

“This is different,” Aranea replied calmly. “This is to gather supplies for our troops. It is a strategic move.”

“Whatebber, Serk.” Meenah rolled her eyes. “Just don’t come glubbin to me when you asshoals realize you’re useless without my genius criminkrill mind.”

So she was leading a mission for grubloaf and faygo. Big whoop. She and her team were laying in wait just outside the ship for the doors to open so they could spring out and invade the capsule. She groaned, wanting to claw her eyes out of boredom. “How long has it been?” she asked the brownblood by her side. (Rufioh, that was what he was called. _Cod,_ what a stupid name.) “Two hours? Three?”

“It’s been ten minutes, doll,” he said, smirking slightly. Meenah scowled.

“Mind your place, buoy.” She looked back up at the platform. “Those chumasses know the Earth sun won’t hurt them, right?”

Suddenly, they heard shouts and the revving of something mechanical coming from just inside the ship. “Wait, shut up a minnowment,” she said to Rufioh. “Somefin’s happening.” The violence went on for only a few minutes before it grew quiet again, and the door swung open. Meenah tensed, preparing to lunge inside.

Then, she spotted who had opened it, and things got interesting.

 

When Kanaya awoke, she found herself uncomfortably thrown over someone’s shoulder. Her mouth was gagged, and when she tried to summon her weapon, she found that her hands were tied behind her back, and her feet at her ankles. She squirmed desperately, and an arm tightened around her. “Whoa, easy there, doll.”

Kanaya humphed indignantly. She was nobody’s _doll_. If she could just find some way to break free, she’d show this asshole how autonomous she was.

She kicked his stomach and felt satisfied when she heard a surprised grunt.

“Ooh, Rufioh, is the Craynbow Drinker -fin-ally awake?” The voice sounded like it came from a mouth with too many teeth. When the troll appeared right in front of her, Kanaya found that this was indeed the case. “You put up quite the bubble back there, but we quickly vanqfished you.” Kanaya stared, nonplussed. “You know, bubble? Like, struggle? Shut up, my puns can’t be fingenious all the time.” The tyrian stomped away indignantly.

“Yo, don’t pay any attention to her,” said the man carrying her, _Rufioh_. “I expect she was trying to be, like… impressive.” His voice was gentle, and he sounded good-natured enough, Kanaya mused. But he still held her captive.

“Don’t worry girl, we’ll be back to base soon. Meenah’ll probably flaunt you around a little to make it sound like… she’s this badass war hero who brought down a Rainbow Drinker, and then… well, she’ll get bored or some shit and you’ll be free to go. Lalonde will probs make her anyway, because… y’know… she don’t like dumb shit like that. Everyone thinks she’s a hardass, but girl’s kinda soft if you ask me. Even for a human…”

By what Kanaya could tell, it was about midday, the way the sun was beaming directly down on them. The ground beneath them was yellow-brown, and behind them, the landscape was so flat, she could make out the ship that had to be miles away. Where had Vriska hidden out here anyway? It seemed impossible.

 _Shit. Vriska_. She was going to think Kanaya bailed on her.

Of course, that was the least of her concerns now, she thought, her head pounding from where they must have knocked her unconscious. She noticed the bandage wrapped around the Rufioh’s arm, and felt the smallest spark of satisfaction that she’d been able to inflict some damage before she’d gotten nabbed. ( _Gods_ , she was thirsty.)

Kanaya had only been able to see behind them, so she didn’t realize that they had been approaching a mesa until they came upon it. Single file, the group entered through a small cave that grew into an enormous cavern. The walls were too smooth to be natural, but who could have carved out such a place? It must have taken _years,_ even with psionics. Mulling about her were mostly rustbloods and humans, who she was unsurprised to find looked very different than their propaganda counterparts. (She _knew_ the hooves were unrealistic. Equius would be so disappointed.) Their bare heads were a bit strange, however, and they looked so fragile.

“Set her down here,” said Meenah. Rufioh swung her down lightly, gave her an apologetic look, and set her on the floor. Kanaya kneeled in front of an unfamiliar blueblood in librarian glasses, who glanced over her boredly.

“And what’s this? A hostage?” she sighed. “Meenah, I told you, your mission was just the supplies. We’ve got to do things…”

“Yeah yeah yeah. I know. The _right_ way. Reely, Aranea, swimmer down. I didn’t even get a chance to explain.” Meenah crossed her arms defiantly. “We did like you said, surrounded the place all teamfork and shit, but before we could school those suckerfish, homegill here opens the door all bloody around the mouth and— ”

“She’s a rainbow drinker?” Aranea interrupted, suddenly interested.

“Without a trout. Aaaand she had all of those idiots whaling at her feet. All the ones she didn’t krill, at least. Not gonna lie, it was pretty badbass.” Kanaya snorted, offended. She didn’t kri- _kill_ anyone.

“Wait, you mean she wasn’t _with_ them? Do we know what her allegiance is?”

“Er…” said Meenah, who obviously hadn’t thought that far.

“Right.”Aranea rolled her eyes. “Of course you didn’t actually try _talking_ to her. How silly of me to even suggest that.” Meenah bristled, but before she could retort, the blueblood knelt down and removed the gag from around Kanaya’s mouth. “I’d like to apologize for my… friend here. She doesn’t really think before she acts. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable, aside from untying you, obviously.”

(“Kinky!” a yellowblood wiggled his eyebrows as he passed by them. Aranea ignored him.)

Kanaya blinked. “Well,” she said hoarsely. “I could go for something to drink, if that’s alright. And I must admit I am a bit confused about what’s going on here.”

Aranea laughed. “Welcome to Earth.”

 

It had been a long day full of extensive effort but minimal results. Nevada wasn’t necessarily pleasant to begin with, and add that to spending all day in the sun, searching for inscrutable marks on cliff walls, and you’ve got at least one hell of a headache. It didn’t help that Aradia was unbearably chipper the entire time. Typically, it was a quality Rose appreciated in her moirail, the troll’s sly smile not too sweet, nor too menacing.

It was not typical, and indeed, somewhat frowned upon, for a human to engage in moirallegiance, despite the species’ centuries long cultural interchange. However, Rose was not one for conventions.

She pulled her bike into the gap in the cliff face with practiced precision and dismounted to park it near one of the walls. No one would dare steal it.

Aradia came up behind her. “Hey, are you alright for meeting tonight,” she asked, face somehow not red and breath somehow not short. Rose narrowed her eyes.

“Of course I am. Don’t be silly.” Aradia raised her eyebrows, and Rose relented. “Okay, perhaps I may be a bit more fatigued than I would like to admit, but that hardly means I am incapable of participation in our simple rituals. Besides,” she muttered quietly. “It’s not as if I have an exhausting amount of news to relay.”

Aradia’s eyes softened, and Rose would have found her pity a bit patronizing if she wasn’t so tired. “No one’s doubting that you’re capable, Rose.” The troll papped her slightly on the shoulder, and the human leaned into her touch. “Anyway, I know we’re getting close. The voices are louder than ever.”

“And how are you coping with that? Are _you_ alright, Aradia?” she asked.

“Me?” The burgundy-blood grinned broadly. “I’ve never been better. I'm actually very excited, to tell you the truth.” Rose snorted.

The meeting commenced, as it usually did, with Rose and her most “trusted” “advisors” (emphasis on the quotation marks) gathered together on the far side of the cavern. This particularly branch of the resistance was almost all young people, and altogether was somewhat small. Along with Rose and Aradia, typical attendees of the meetings included only Aranea, Rufioh, Meenah, and Jade. Other members were allowed to attend if they wished, but few rarely did.

Before Rose could begin by pass on more vague statements about the “progress” she and Aradia were making on the ancient prophecies, Meenah interrupted.

“I’ve got anemonouncement to make,” she began, somehow not mangling that pun. “On my very im-port-ant fisshion today, I personally captured a hostile-“

“Wait, weren’t you just making a supply run?” asked Jade, stifling a giggle.

Meenah glared, blushing slightly “Ahem. As I was saying, we got ourshellves a prisoner.”

“Wait, what?” asked Rose. She did _not_ have time for this.

“Well,” said Aranea. “It’s not exactly—”

“Excuse me,” came a smooth voice from behind Rose. “I’m terribly sorry to interject, but I was wondering whether you have any communication devices on hand? It’s a bit urgent, I’m afraid.”

Rose turned to face the inquiry, but when she met the troll’s steady gaze, she couldn’t bring herself to respond. She found herself transfixed by the jadeblood’s expectant posture and her slight, elegant movements.

“Uh,” said the human sorceress, who had carved out the cave with her magic, who had semi-successfully organized the most ridiculous group of rebels on the planet, who had memorized the occultist’s encyclopedia before she turned five sweeps old. “Uh,” she said, in the most eloquent manner one might utter the sound.

To be fair, it had been a very long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, Rose is gay and so am I. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm out for summer break, so I should have plenty of time to write. I would expect updates at least weekly. If you'd like to contact me, my tumblr is unsit-on-hat. So, basically my username with dashes instead of underscores. Any feedback is welcome. Other writers can appreciate how distorted one's vision can be in regards their own work, especially things that they've recently written. So yeah, if it's confusing at all, or you see any grammatical errors, feel free to hmu in the comments.


	2. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strider-centric chapter! Dirk's trying his best, ok?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a warning, this chapter focuses a bit on child abuse, so if that makes you uncomfortable, I would skip the passage that begins with "The first time..." It's not super necessary to the plot. It just sort of helps to explain the actions of certain characters. Also, there is a small amount of violence included. Nothing explicit, but I just wanted to give a heads up!
> 
> With that out of the way, it was an interesting thing writing from Dirk's POV, because there are a lot of interpretations out there. My take, of course, being that he's secretly a huge sap. I suppose I am happy with how this turned out, anyway. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Dirk came home from his (semi-legal) job reprogramming drones for human gangs with an unprecedented amount of pep in his stride. It was his last day of cowering away from patrols, his last day rushing to get home before the curfew her royal fish-bitchiness had ordained. It was his last day fearing for his life under the rein of aliens whose idea of normality  was violence. Years of planning with Jake, most of it daydreams he never thought would actually be realized, had finally come into fruition. He tried to stop a grin from creeping to his face when he thought of his longtime friend and online crush, but his lip still twitched traitorously. They had  _ plans _ . 

And, since it was Dirk, of course every detail fell exactly into place: the drone rotation, the boat, his job. The only thing he didn’t account for was the possibility that Dave didn’t want to come with him.

“Wow, looks like someone woke up on the right side of the smuppet pile this morning. What, did that yellowblood finally let you into his panties?”

To be fair, he probably should have explained his escape plan at some point before the eve of its implementation. It wasn’t as though he was avoiding the topic on purpose. It just… never came up. It wasn’t as if his little bro had a ton of stuff to pack either. The last time Dirk caught a glimpse of his room, there were only empty chip bags and dead shit as far as the eye could see. Why wouldn’t Dave be up for leaving this shithole and absconding from under the tyranny of these horned fascists?

Turns out, he didn’t know his brother as well as he thought. 

_ Welp, there’s no time like the present _ , thought Dirk, deciding to rip off the bandage quickly and confess what he’d been plotting. The reaction he got wasn’t one he was expecting. Dave just stared at him, silent and unreadable past the pristine sunglasses his buddy somehow managed to acquire for his birthday. (He insisted they were Stiller’s, but that was impossible.) 

Then, he said: “Nah, I’m good.”

“What.”

“I said I’m good bro. I’m fine here, fine as Troll Michelle Obama’s biceps reflecting the glow of her godly aura. Whole senate has to wear shades when she flexes, man. One time Troll Paul Ryan didn’t see it coming and she friggin blinded him. After that, he signed a human rights agreement on accident, that’s how fine her biceps, and by extension, my living situation, are and is. Respectively.” Dave faltered a little bit toward the end, emotion slipping through his facade of apathy. 

He nodded curtly. “So,” he said, analyzing Dave’s stiff posture and stubborn jaw. “I’m guessing you still think this is your decision.”

The older teen wasn’t typically one to resort to solving his problems in a physical manner. His weapon of choice was mind games and manipulation, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He pulled out his favorite shitty anime sword. There was no way on Earth he was actually going to hurt Dave, not intentionally, but the kid didn’t know that. 

Dirk was not leaving without his brother. 

The other boy let out a small gasp, barely perceptible to any but Dirk’s keenly trained ears. However, he responded reflexively, likely from all of the stupid brawls he got in with loyalists for flapping his smartass mouth (not to mention… but they didn’t talk about that). The kid hated this place more than anyone. What was he doing?

Dave pulled out his broken sword that he’d recovered from an ancient dig site years ago. Despite Dirk’s protests that it was inefficient, he’d held onto it, and really, it had become his symbol: a fractured relic from a shattered world. The kid loved his metaphors, didn’t he? He was reeking friggin John Green level amounts of sappy up in this joint.  _ Edritch gods _ , he didn’t know what he’d do without him. 

He was determined never to find out. 

His brother deftly blocked him, and nearly managed to kick him in the shin, but Dirk flashstepped out of the way just in time. Dave shouted at him: “What the fuck, bro?”

“I think I’ve made myself fairly clear,” said Dirk quietly, before managing to get his younger brother in a headlock. He kept the blade away from Dave’s neck. The kid already had enough scars.

 

The first time that they’d met was in the shitty record and comic shop that Dirk had worked at when he was five and a half sweeps and had yet to be introduced to the robotics black market. An older man had walked in, a regular customer and outrageously cool guy with killer shades and fingerless gloves, who sometimes gave Dirk the honor of nodding at him as he checked him out. (Or rather, ahem, checked out the merchandise) 

This time, a smaller boy with identical shades followed behind him, imitating his guardian’s cool-guy posture, albeit somewhat failing with his gangly limbs and sunburnt nose. Also, he was wearing a grub-burger king crown decorated with sequins in some places and crayon dicks in others. It was hideous, but the boy was wearing it like a badge of honor.

The man gestured to the interior of the store with wide arms, as if to say that the kid could pick out anything he wanted. The boy’s face broke out into a toothy smile, but only for a moment before reigning it back in. He was missing a few of his baby teeth. A few more than typically fell out at the same time. Dirk felt a dreadful suspicion creeping up on him as he noticed the number of band-aids on the boy’s arms, how careful his movements were. Cool-guy was not someone he had pegged for the paternal type. 

_ But then,  _ the small bitter part of him whispered.  _ Wasn’t the boy lucky to have someone to take care of him at all?  _ No one had raised Dirk. He’d had to beg and steal until he was old enough to work, and even now he was lucky to have a place to sleep. Her royal fishiness didn’t give a shit about human orphans. 

Still, there was something off here, as cool-guy went off to browse through obscure movie soundtracks, leaving the boy to his own devices. Hesitantly, the boy walked past the comics one would expect a child of his age to enjoy, and made his way over to the teen/adult section. Dirk expected the kid to pick out one of the mangas with the covers of troll girls with wide eyes and melon-sized breasts. That’s what he would do if he was trying to impress the cool-guy. Of course, it wasn’t something he, personally, would ever touch again. But no, instead the kid frowned and moved on to the records, running his fingers before finally approaching the counter with, what was that, a nu-jazz album? Where the fuck did that even come from? Dirk had never seen that before in his life, and in fact, had assumed the genre had died with the 1990s. 

Shit, this kid was good. 

The boy payed for the record with a halfway torn twenty dollar bill, but didn’t leave when Dirk gave him his change. “Sick tattoo, bro.” 

Dirk raised his eyebrows. Very few people outside of the resistance recognized Hella Jeff, especially since all of his creator’s work had been banned over a century ago. Of course, he had suspected the older man’s choice in eyewear to be more than superior fashion sense. This confirmed it.

“Yeah?” he asked, lowering his arm down on the glass, noticing the way the boy flinched slightly with a pang in his chest. “Thanks pal. You see the jpeg artifacts, right? Did that myself,” Dirk said proudly, pointing. The boy looked like he was trying not to look impressed.

“Name’s Dave,” trying to sound gruff, but the effect was lost beneath his squeaky voice. “It’s my wriggling day,” he said, gesturing to the grub-burger king crown. “I’m four sweeps old, so my bro let me come down to this sicknasty place you got here and spend one a those sweet troll Andrew Jacksons he’s got stored in plush rumps for safe keeping-“ A plush  _ what _ ? He’d definitely be sanitizing his hands after the customers made their departure. 

“And I’m really into those ill jams, so course I was hella psyched. How am I gonna be a motherfucking DJ without some sweet records? I even got grubnuggets earlier, which Bro never gets me cause he only likes human places, and—“ Wow. This kid did not stop talking, did he? Dirk’s stomach turned when he mentioned grubnuggets, and wondered if Dave knew what actually went into them. 

Still, it was pretty fucking cute. He guessed. 

As soon as the adult came up to the register, Dave’s mouth snapped shut and he adjusted himself so that he was tense and ready. Dirk frowned slightly. Bro nodded at him, and the two left. 

It was not the last he’d see of Dave, though. He’d keep coming back after school. (His bro didn’t seem to care where he was as long as, in Dave’s words, he wasn’t “embarrassing himself.”) Sometimes Dirk would have him do odd jobs for store credit. After a few weeks, the kid had saved up enough to buy his friend a Midnight Crew poster. Each time he’d show up, he’d have a new bandage added to his collection, or a homemade splint, or a swollen lip. 

Dirk began to save up what little money he could, began proactively looking for people who needed technicians or repairmen. He took small jobs and barely slept. Dirk wasn’t quite sure why. 

He just had a feeling. 

So when Dave showed up at the shop five months later with a dislocated shoulder and a duffel bag full of orange soda, he was prepared. 

He got that kid (and himself) the fuck out of there. 

 

Now, Dirk was ready to do that again, but Dave wasn’t having any of it. “The hell you have!” he yelled, finally managing to duck out of his brother’s firm grip. “You think you always know what’s right for everyone. You always know best huh? Well you’re friggin wrong this time, Dirk. I’m not leaving.”

Dave charged at him, too angry to be accurate, and Dirk slipped away easily. “Shit, is this because I didn’t tell you? I’m sorry kiddo. Thought you’d get over that.”

“Oh yeah? Well fun fact, bro. Unlike some people, I’m not an emotionless robot and I’m actually capable of genuine human connection!” 

“Oh.” That shut him up real fast. He dropped like a stone onto a chair.

He was looking at the ground, so he didn’t see Dave running his fingers through his hair, flustered. However, he did hear the table creak beneath his little brothers weight as he sat down next to him. “Fuck, wait. I didn’t mean that. It’s just- I mean- I’m not  _ like  _ you, bro.” 

“An emotionless robot?”

“No, I mean I’m not  _ strong  _ like you. I can’t just tear myself away from my friends and my house to go live wild and free like fuckin Willy the whale or some shit. I’m not jacked enough to support my own weight, bro. Need me some Bill Withers in my life, cause I gotta do some mad leaning on people. I can’t. I can’t be on my own, dude. I just can’t. Not after everything.”

Dirk’s voice cracked. “You wouldn’t be, you know. You wouldn’t be alone.”

“You know what I mean. I need. I  _ need _ people.”

“I need  _ you _ ,” said Dirk in the most heartfelt, sickeningly cliche tone he’d ever employed in his life.

“Like fuck you do,” said Dave, like an ass. 

The truth, though, was that he was right. Dirk had always been independent. He’d always been fine on his own, keeping himself company, driving himself mad. Taking care of himself. Sure, it would be a painful separation, far more painful than he would care to admit, but Dirk would get over it and move on. 

Dave, on the other hand, needed to be around other people. Not just him, either. Especially not just him.

After a long stretch of silence, Dirk asked, “What are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“What are you going to do for rent? Food? The drones?”

Dave shrugged. “I’ll get a roommate, probably. Someone needs to keep me from blowing this place up with my explosive beats, anyway. Also you  _ know _ I got a couple of sweet gigs going on right now, so bills and groceries and shit won’t be a problem. As for the drones,” Dave grinned at him with all his adult teeth. “Even though I can totally fuckin take them, I’ve got a ton of bad-ass bros to help me kick their asses. Seriously, I’m fine.” He punched his older brother’s tattoo. “And you’re going to be fine. Finer than troll Michelle Obama’s biceps.”

Dirk let out a mirthless chuckle. “Why do you always have to call me out, you asswipe?”

“It’s a hard job, but someone’s gotta suck it up.”

Dirk turned and raised his eyebrows. “Are you gonna suck up my hard job, bro?”

Dave covered his face with his hands. He said something muffled that Dirk hardly caught. Probably “don’t tell Rose.” Dirk laughed for real this time. 

“Then maybe make sure you fuckin message me, dumbass.” He ruffled his little brother’s carefully styled hair. 

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“Maybe.”  They stared soulfully into each other’s shades and perfectly executed a rare and highly sweet bro hug bump. It was truly a sight to behold. After remaining stiff and muscly in each other's arms for the obligatory amount of time, Dave went slack and rested his head against Dirk’s shoulder. Dirk felt his throat itch and cleared it, separating himself from his brother.

Then, Dirk saluted, hoisted his huge backpack and Lil Cal over his shoulder, and absconded. 

 

It was Human Tuesday, vestment ablution (or, as humans and high-bloods called it, "laundry") day for Karkat, and the little bell rang when he shoved open the door to the laundromat at three in the morning. He still wasn't used to a diurnal schedule, even though most of the trolls living on Earth had conceded to convenience and acclimated to the almost  _ kind _ sun.

Once he'd loaded his five identical shirts and pairs of pants into the vestments ablution trap and pressed all the correct buttons (the sudden noise always made him jump), he took his empty basket and headed for the door. There were some diners open in the troll part of town that sold the kind of slop one might be served on Alternian naval ships. (Gods, he was pathetic.)

On his way out, Karkat glanced at a bulletin board set up near the door for people to hang flyers and such. Looked like a girl was missing her cat, a convenience store was hiring, and oh -look at that- some asshole was looking for a roommate.

Well good for fucking  _ him _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this fic is turning out to be easier than I thought it would be. Practically writing itself, it is. I'm kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop.


End file.
